


Empty

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-07
Updated: 2007-12-07
Packaged: 2019-01-19 10:41:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12408795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: "Thou hast nor youth nor ageBut as it were an after dinner sleepDreaming of both."





	Empty

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

_Disclaimer: Everything from HP books belongs to JK Rowling_

**EMPTY**   


I can’t tie ties. Well, I can, but not right now. Not with Nadine sitting on the bed watching me like I’m some kind of freak show. It’s unnerving, that little girl. She sits and watches and no one ever knows what’s going on in her head. Bill once told me I’m the only one she ever really talks to. It’s unnerving. It makes me uncomfortable. Why does she just sit there and stare at me? I never really get uncomfortable, except for when she’s around. Only with her. I can have cameras flashing in my face, tons of people watching me score a goal and I never loose my cool. But with this eleven year old girl sitting on my bed, I can barely move my fingers. 

She knows things and not like other people know things. Anyone can pick up witch weekly and know anything there is to know about me, my middle name, my birthday, my favorite vegetable, but Nadine can sit and watch me like she does now and know everything else. I’m afraid sometimes to hear what she has to say. Eleven year olds aren’t supposed to know so much. They aren’t supposed to pick up on these things. 

Up and over. Down and around. My fingers are stiff and awkward. Mattie’s in the other room telling me to hurry up. I’m trying, I think of saying, but then I remember Nadine is sitting there, and I focus on my tie.  
  
She is my family and I love her, but not like this. Not when she is trying to figure something out. I feel the need to run out of the room, but I don’t. The damn tie. I’m focusing and she’s talking and I’m listening but I don’t really know what I’m listening to. Sometimes she speaks in French because she picked it up from her mother. None of the others speak it as well as she does.   
  
“Do you love Teddy?” she asks me now and my fingers are useless. 

“What do you mean?” I answer, not knowing what else to say, “Sure I love him. Like I love you.”

“Not like you love me.” 

“What do you mean?” I repeat, trying to work my fingers around the tie again. 

“Like…” She trails off in French again. I think that’s supposed to mean something. I just try and ignore her now. 

“Huh?” I mutter; my tie is crooked now. 

“ _Rien_ ,” she says and I nod. Okay. I’m leaving the room now. Mattie’s telling me to hurry up. 

“Don’t forget your glasses,” she reminds me on my way out. I leave them sitting next to the mirror. I have to go.   


“What took you?” Mattie demands when I’m out in the foyer. We’re going out. We always do. Strangers think we’re together and we never correct them. It’s easier, I’ve always thought. It’s a big joke. The tabloids call us incestuous and a shame on our family name. We just laugh. A shame on our family? Is that even possible? 

“I was talking to Nadine,” I answer truthfully. I don’t tell her what about and she doesn’t ask. Mattie and Nadine aren’t close. I don’t even think they even get along. Probably because they are exact opposites. Mattie writes the gossip column in the _Prophet_ and Nadine never talks. Mattie likes to be the center of attention and Nadine likes to fade into the background. They are sisters but they are nothing alike. 

In the other room, Al and Lily and some others are shouting. Probably Hugo and the twins. I can’t hear what they are saying but I know it’s loud and I can’t think right now. My hands are working again but my brain is dead. 

“Ready to go then?” Mattie ends her speech with. She was saying something before that, but I wasn’t paying attention. It probably doesn’t matter. Probably something about how we won’t be late if we leave now or who we were going to see or I don’t know. She’s flipping her long red hair around and I’m laughing even though my brain isn’t working right. 

We’re at the theater in a few minutes. Everyone is saying hi to me, and I’m introducing them to my cousin. She is Mathilde when we are out. Everyone complements her on her dress and they ask me how training is going. Mattie talks in my ear and we laugh at private jokes. No one really gets close to us. On Monday there will be pictures of us in the tabloids and the whole family will laugh about it. 

“How’s that arm, James?” Ludo Bagman asks me. He’s gotten old and wrinkled. He is here with a young woman with bright blonde hair and it hurts my eyes. I can’t really see straight. 

“It’s alright, sir,” I say smiling the smile that everyone talks about and nodding. “I think I’ll be able to play in the next game.” 

I’ll never be able to play again, I think to myself. 

He nods and guffaws and asks Mathilde how she is and how the column is going for her. She prattles on about it. I laugh at the right times and nod my head and answer all the questions he asks me. When the lights dim, we find our seats. We always sit in the top box in the back row so that other people can’t see us.  We aren’t hiding. We have everything to hide. 

The play is long and Mathilde watches with rapt interest. Mattie is probably day-dreaming. I don’t know what it’s about. I’m thinking. Nadine keeps floating into my head. I can’t get her words out of my head. She knows so much. Secretly, I’m glad she never says anything. I don’t want everyone to know. I don’t want anyone to know. Mattie knows. That’s why she is here. That’s why she is Mathilde. That’s why we whisper in each others ears and laugh at the tabloids and go out all the time. Mattie is trying to protect me. Mathilde is trying to protect me too. 

Fred knows. Fred knows everything. He thinks it’s funny and when it’s just me and him we make up secret jokes about it. He thinks everything is funny. He’s good to have around. Lily might know too. I don’t think she understands though. I won’t tell her unless she asks. 

Teddy knows. I wish he didn’t. He isn’t like Mattie and Fred and Nadine and maybe Lily. He got mad and told me to go away and now he avoids me like some sort of plague. Sometimes he’ll send me a letter from  America . He’s working there now. His letters are always empty of detail, like he doesn’t want me to really know what’s going on. He doesn’t write anyone else though. Once my dad. 

The play is over before I even know it started and Mathilde and I are leaving. She takes me by the arm and leads me around. She’s talking about the characters. The ones I didn’t pay attention to. She loved the play. She says we should see it again before it closes. I agree, but I can’t even remember the title. I don’t remember anything anymore. 

I take her home. She doesn’t live at Shell Cottage anymore. She moved in with Vic a couple of months ago. She hates it. I empathize. Sometimes, she’ll stay at my apartment. The tabloids love that. We never correct them. It’s easier that way. Not tonight though. Tonight she goes home. Vic is in  Paris visiting their aunt. 

“Good riddance,” she says laughing too loudly.

“You’ll wake the neighbors,” I tell her. 

“Damn the neighbors.”

“That’s no way to talk.”

“Damn the neighbors, Jimmy!” 

I laugh then. I don’t know why, but I laugh. I can’t explain anything. 

She finds her key, she tells me to go home and I do. 

Everyone’s asleep when I get back. In the living room, everyone has fallen asleep where they were before. The tube is on but it’s not loud. Nadine is asleep on the couch. I feel very relieved. They are look so peaceful; I feel a mess just looking at them. Nothing is that simple anymore. Not the way it used to be. I remember when it was me and Fred and Mattie and Vic and Teddy sleeping on the couch with full stomachs, full of gossip and jokes and empty minds. Things were simple then. We fell asleep in piles on the floor and the tabloids didn’t write about it. 

I go to bed. Never empty.

\---

A/N: I was trying my hand at symbolism for a warm-up to a class assignment. Another chapter will follow it up, eventually.  

 


End file.
